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For all the reading Fischl has done on romantic relationships, the reality she's living with Collei now is nothing like how it goes down in her vast collection of novels.
Collei's kisses are soft and tentative, always with a good amount of uncertainty hidden behind her nervous smile. She kisses Fischl like she thinks she'll disappear, like she's afraid if she doesn't hold herself far away, if she pushes forwards or presses down on the wrong buttons, Fischl will turn to dust and slip away between her fingertips, forever gone with the wind.
And Fischl - Fischl kisses Collei back with the same amount of hesitation, with the same amount of uncertainty, hands trailing limply at her sides because she's unsure where to put her hands and too afraid of accidentally hurting the girl she loves with all her heart to try anything.
Sometime later, in the midst of all the kissing and soft murmurs of I love you, they wind up on the floor of Collei's hut, curled up facing each each other but never quite touching, Fischl's blonde hair splayed out behind her like a river of gold. Collei's violet eyes blink owlishly up at her, and Fischl's so lost in the constellations in her eyes that she almost misses the words that pass the other girl's lips.
"Are you real?"
Her voice is so soft, so achingly soft, that it takes Fischl a while to register her words. She stirs, shifting slightly to get a better look at her lover.
"What?" She whispers back just as softly, though she doesn't know why. Maybe she's just afraid of rousing the monsters that seemingly lurk in the shadows outside the safety of the cabin.
In the dim, rosy cheeks of the lanterns hanging overhead, Collei's cheeks seem to be dusted with a delicate shade of pink. Slowly, she reaches out a hand and tentatively brushes a stray strand of gold away from Fischl's face.
"Nothing," she murmurs, though Fischl can see it in her eyes that it's not nothing, it's never nothing with Collei. "It's just... Sometimes I wonder if I made you up. You seem too good to be true."
Somehow, at least to some extent, Fischl understands what she's trying to say. Collei is someone with a soul that's been run ragged by fate before she even had a chance to experience any form of normalcy, an angel that's been burned to badly by life that any sort of blessing is to be questioned and to be regarded with suspicion, and left to forever wonder if it will one day be taken away from her. Fischl is aware of the illness Collei suffers, the pain she goes through just to drag herself out of bed every day. She's seen the dark expanse of scales on her skin, a reminder of her fate that no amount of scratching or scrubbing at can erase.
Collei thinks she hides her pain well, but Fischl knows, she always knows, sees the fury and anguish and pain in her eyes, sees how she tries to herself at a distance from everyone around her, how her hands shake and tears threaten to fall every time she loses control of her limbs and sends things crashing to the ground. And yet Fischl can do nothing to stop the pain, can only stand at her side and wipe the tears from her cheeks, hating herself for not being able to do more.
Collei's arm falls limply back at her side, but at the last second, Fischl extends her own hand and takes it in hers, fingers pressing lightly against the hard scales that adorn her lover's skin.
"I'm real," Fischl breathes, and as if for emphasis, she brings Collei's hand up to her face and presses her fingertips against her lips. "I'm real, and I'm here. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."
The side of Collei's mouth twitches upwards into a lopsided smile. "Because a princess needs her loyal retainer at her side at all costs?"
A breathy laugh escapes Fischl's lips. "Something like that, yeah."
Almost subconsciously, she intertwines her fingers with Collei's, as if in linking themselves together they can overcome whatever hard future the Fates have laid out for her. Collei gazes up at her, violet-eyed and rosy-cheeked, and after another moment's hesitation, she leans in with a soft smile, pressing her lips to Fischl's and closing the gap between them.
And their kisses are nothing like the romantic, earth-shattering moment her novels make it out to be, but Fischl doesn't think she'd have it any other way.